


straight faced with misery tonight

by monstermash



Series: memento mori (remember, you will die) [17]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22098916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstermash/pseuds/monstermash
Summary: Leaning back against the metal shell of the truck and letting his head roll to the left so he's watching the headlights bounce off the dirt road and the trees around them, John can't figure out whyanyonewould just drop everything and run off to join a Doomsday cult in the middle of nowhere inMontana.It's completely ridiculous in his opinion. Only an absolutemoronwould fall for it, hook, line, and sinker.And that includes anyone whostartsone as well. He can think of at least a hundred better things to do than that."Crossing over the lake," Deputy Pratt announces right as Deputy Hudson mutters'oh fuck, there they are.'
Relationships: Deputy | Judge & John Seed, Deputy | Judge & Mary May Fairgrave, Deputy | Judge/John Seed, Grace Armstrong/Jess Black, Jacob Seed & John Seed, John Seed & Rachel Jessop, Male Deputy | Judge/John Seed, Mary May Fairgrave/Joey Hudson
Series: memento mori (remember, you will die) [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1010070
Comments: 7
Kudos: 63





	straight faced with misery tonight

**Author's Note:**

> role reversal au based on [this](https://minilev.tumblr.com/post/187997927216) (with a minor change or two). i've wanted to do a role reversal au for a while, but never had the chance to get around to it until now.

_"... and there are those who don't understand why we do what we do,"_ the man says, keeping a slow, even pace as he walks from one end to the other on the makeshift stage in the middle of some unidentifiable part of the vast forest of Hope County. Sunlight glinting off the lenses of his thin wire frame glasses in such a way that it makes his eyes look like tiny fires. _"Who don't understand the gravity of our situation, that it is **do** or **die."**_

He pauses, face stern as his gaze moves across the crowd.

_"And those who have forgotten that."_

His eyes lock on one specific person and then they're grabbed, swarmed, dragged forward and forced down onto their knees before him. The man circles like a shark that's smelled blood, holds out an expectant hand and within moments there is a knife placed in it.

_"But we will make them remember."_

Their mouth is forced open, tongue held and knife raised, panicked screaming and—

The buffering icon pops up and the video stops.

"Hey, Marshal," Sheriff Whitehorse says, tapping at the edge of the bench to get his attention. "You're wasting your time. There's no signal out here."

With a nod and a polite smile, John slips his phone back into his pocket. Burke doesn't miss the exchange, raising a judging brow at him before turning his attention back to rereading the warrant for what feels like the fiftieth time.

"Somebody's in trouble," Jacob singsongs under his breath, chuckling when John elbows him, completely ineffective against the ballistic vest.

Leaning back against the metal shell of the truck and letting his head roll to the left so he's watching the headlights bounce off the dirt road and the trees around them, John can't figure out why _anyone_ would just drop everything and run off to join a Doomsday cult in the middle of nowhere in _Montana._

It's completely ridiculous in his opinion. Only an absolute _moron_ would fall for it, hook, line, and sinker.

And that includes anyone who _starts_ one as well. He can think of at least a hundred better things to do than that.

"Crossing over the lake," Deputy Pratt announces right as Deputy Hudson mutters _'oh fuck, there they are.'_

John can feel the air shift next to him, Jacob leaning forward to catch a glimpse of what Deputy Hudson is talking about that John is already grimacing at.

There are corpses impaled on the branches of a dead whitebark pine with _TRAITOR_ carved into the rotting flesh of each and every chest, and cut out tongues nailed into the trunk, all displayed proudly, a message to strangers and cultists alike.

Well, he supposes he understands why two Marshals and a tactical unit were sent instead of just Burke.

"How much longer?" Burke asks, finally putting down the warrant.

"Just long enough for you to change your mind," the Sheriff replies.

The corners of John's mouth tug down ever so slightly in a frown. Wouldn't he _want_ this cult gone and out of his hair? Especially is they're just casually decorating trees with dead people?

"You want us to ignore a federal warrant, Sheriff?"

"No, sir," Sheriff Whitehorse answers, his gaze going from Burke to John, voice grim as he continues, "I want you to understand the reality of this situation: Dutch Roosevelt... he's not a man to be fucked with. We've had run-ins with him before and they haven't always gone our way. Hell, I've lost a Deputy and a lot of good people to him. Just sometimes... sometimes, it's best to leave well enough alone."

Out of the corner of his eye, John can see Deputy Pratt's shoulders tense as he continues to navigate their truck down the bumpy dirt road and how Deputy Hudson's grip tightens on the shotgun in her lap.

He wonders if the lost Deputy is up in that tree.

"Looks like you'll have something interesting to tell Miller after all," John quietly says to Jacob who snorts at that.

Apparently he's not quiet enough, because Deputy Hudson's head whips around glaring daggers at him. Rolling his eyes, John tunes back into the conversation between Burke and the Sheriff.

"They started off harmless enough a few years back - just another bunch of Doomsday preppers - but now... well, you saw that tree back there and that ain't even the worst of it. They're lookin' for a _fight."_ That last bit is pointedly directed at Burke.

"Are you scared, Sheriff?"

There isn't time for an answer as Deputy Pratt lets them know that they've finally arrived at the compound.

The compound isn't much to look at; a couple buildings that have seen better days, some small gardens scattered around, a range on the far side. And a bunch of empty cages that John is pretty sure aren't used for animals. But this is just what he can see from inside the van, which slows to a stop at the barbed wire gate.

John has a feeling that this is going to be a long night.

\---

"They can't all come with," Sheriff Whitehorse explains slowly, gesturing to Jacob's tactical unit as they climb out of the van parked behind theirs. "Better leave 'em here with Pratt. Lord knows the preppers will strip the vans for parts given half the chance."

Thankfully, Burke doesn't try to argue; quite frankly, John is in no mood to play peacemaker in the woods at 3am.

He's no mood to be in the woods at 3am at all, really.

(In all honesty, John would rather be back in Atlanta and having to deal with the Duncans than be out here; he's never been a fan of nature all that much.)

"Pratt, radio Nancy; tell her if she doesn't hear from us in fifteen minutes to send in everyone. Call in the goddamn National Guard if she has to," Sheriff Whitehorse says to his deputy, then turns his attention back to Burke, John, and Jacob. "Now listen up. Three rules: Stick close. Keep your guns in your holsters, and let me do the talking. Got it?"

"Got it," Burke agrees. Jacob just mimes zipping his lips, eyes narrowed in a way that not many people catch, but John recognizes it for what it is; mockery, but Jacob's willing to go along with it.

"Marshal Seed?"

"Got it."

It's a slow walk through the compound, Sheriff Whitehorse taking point with Burke and Deputy Hudson about a half step behind him, while John and Jacob follow behind. Up close, the whole place looks filthy, an attempt to make it look less threatening at a passing glance. The guy with the flamethrower kind of ruins the effect, but John still lets out a low whistle at the effort anyway.

When the sound of snarling dogs gets too loud, John nudges his brother with his elbow; if his brother clenches his jaw any tighter he's afraid it'll just pop right out of its hinge.

"He'll be in the barn up ahead," the Sheriff points it out, the only building in the compound that has any lights on in it, all the rest dark even though there are faces peering out closed windows. Quietly, he adds, "Eyes open. These folks can spook easily. Got twitchy trigger fingers, too."

Taking a surreptitious glance at the small crowd gathered on either side of the muddy path, John doubts the first part, but can easily believe the second part seeing as how more than half of them already have weapons drawn, more than ready to start firing away given the chance.

The closer they get to the barn, the louder it gets. John can't quite make out what's going on inside other than raised voices trying to talk over each other.

Peeling paint, questionable stains, and words carved into the large doors, the barn looks like something out of a horror movie.

"Woah, Marshal," Sheriff Whitehorse speaks up, hand bracing against the door Burke just tried to open. "Now we do this, we do it my way. Quietly. Calmly. You got it?"

"Fine," is the response Burke gives, barely concealed exasperation in his voice, and John finds himself agreeing with him for once. Have they _not_ been doing this the Sheriff's way the entire time? Personally, John's getting a bit irritated with the near constant reminders from the Sheriff; this isn't their first rodeo, and being treated like a couple of rookies tends to get really old, really quick.

"You two," the Sheriff points to Deputy Hudson and Jacob, "on the door. Watch our backs. Don't let any of these people get in."

"Relax, Sheriff. You're about to get your name in the paper," Burke says and John has to stifle a frustrated sigh. That's the one thing that John absolutely can't stand about Burke.

"Let's get this over with," John finally says, stepping between the two to push the barn door open. This is supposed to be a milk run - get in, make the arrest, get out - and these two are apparently trying to see who can get on John's nerves the quickest.

The answer is both. Both of them are getting on his nerves to the point where John's vision is starting to cloud red at the edges.

After that, John doesn't pay too much attention to what's being said, either by the Sheriff and Burke, or by the dozen or so voices of Doomsday preppers talking over each other, more focused on keeping an eye on what everyone in the barn is doing and where.

A hush falls over the crowd as the three of them approach, the only voice left is that of the man John watched carve out another person's tongue. Richard "Dutch" Roosevelt. Behind him are four faces John recognizes from the files he read before flying out here.

Jessica Black. Dutch's niece, but most commonly known by her nickname, _'The Huntress.'_ She's been part of this cult since it began, and her uncle's most vocal supporter. Not to mention all the torture she does with the knife she's currently flipping between her fingers as she watches them with sharp eyes.

Next to her is Eli Palmer. An easy target - in John's eyes - for indoctrination after his wife left him when their son died. From what John understands, Palmer is the one who was in charge of building the main bunkers that stick out like eyesores. 

And then there's Jerome Jeffries. Gulf War veteran and former Catholic priest who persuaded a good portion of his flock to join this Doomsday cult. There's a pleasant smile on his face that looks so out of place here, but no doubt helps keep morale up and people loyal to their cause.

Finally, there's... well, it isn't so much a face as it is a wooden mask painted white and enough layers of clothing to obscure anything defining about them, but they're only known as _'The Judge.'_ John's still not entirely sure as to what their role is or who they even are since their file was only a single page and even then it was only a few sentences long.

He can't help but feel like he's being stared at by them, by the Judge; John can't see their face, but he catches a glimpse of eyes shining in the dark.

The attention doesn't last long, not when Dutch speaks again.


End file.
